


Parade of Men

by PhrancesP



Category: Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-08
Updated: 2015-06-08
Packaged: 2018-04-03 10:08:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 781
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4096939
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PhrancesP/pseuds/PhrancesP
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Phryne reviews the parade of men from a new point of view - Jack's.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Parade of Men

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to Kerry Greenwood for creating Phryne Fisher, a modern woman, and to Miss Fisher’s Murder Mysteries for creating Jack Robinson, an old-fashioned romantic.

Phryne Fisher did not like to be on the defensive when it came to questions or comments about her amorous encounters. She was proud to be a modern woman, in control of her life, her fortune and property, and her body. And yet, as she sat at her dressing table, quietly removing her jewelry, she became aware of a degree of shame flooding across her, flushing her cheeks. She paused to evaluate this feeling, stilling her motions as she remembered the pain and confusion in Jack Robinson’s eyes. Granted, he had been drunk, but the alcohol had loosened his tongue and relieved him of his inhibitions to the point where a flood of truth, as he saw it, had poured out. He saw her lovers as a “parade of men,” as if she had been flaunting them for the purpose of hurting him. Phryne wondered how often he had reviewed the catalog of types – artists, anarchists, and tango dancers – since they had first met. “Men who wear damned cravats,” he had yelled, in frustration. Phryne knew that Jack deserved her explanation about her father and his cravats. Jack would also want to know exactly how he had ended up in Phryne’s bed, wearing borrowed pajamas. She turned to look at Jack, asleep in her bed, where she had imagined him so many times. It would have to wait until the morning. She wrapped her robe around herself tightly and slipped out of the room. 

Alone in the unfamiliar bed in the guest room, Phryne could not shake the fanciful image of her lovers, parading down the staircase of her home past a frozen Jack Robinson at the foot of the stairs. In her dreams Jack was leaning towards her, saying “Not always, Miss Fisher,” and bending his head down to hers. She was breathing in his kiss, reaching for his beloved face, when they were interrupted, again and again. They pulled apart, over and over, as the parade came through. The tango dancer, the muscular oarsman, the jazz musician, and the anarchist – each one stopped to kiss her on the lips, as Jack looked down, hands in his pockets. Phryne laughed and waved as each man walked through her door.

Then there was a drumroll – Phryne and Jack looked up the staircase to see Lin, lit up by a stage spotlight. Lin’s eyes were fixed on Phryne, and she could not look away. His kiss was different – he slid his hands from her neck up into her hair and tilted her head for deeper, more intimate access. Phryne could hear Jack’s groan, but she could not break away from Lin. At last Lin moved on and Phryne reached across towards Jack, but he was looking away and did not see her gesture. The lights in the hallway went out – they were standing in complete darkness. Phryne tossed in her sleep – it was Rene coming down the stairs, and her heart was hammering with remembered terror. But Jack was there first, claiming her mouth with his own, gripping her to him as Rene passed on, out the door and into the night.

The lights came on again, in her dream, and some faint music started to play in the background. Phryne’s breathed out in relief, and she again reached for Jack’s hand, feeling it firmly around her own as she twirled around the hallway, releasing her sister’s memory and her fear of Murdoch Foyle. There were pink feathers floating around her now, as she danced, still holding Jack’s hand. His eyes were on her, fondly admiring her spirit and joy, and she was laughing. But, then they both turned to see another man on the staircase. It was Hamilton, the clairvoyant’s manager, blowing a kiss over his shoulder, and zipping his trousers. Jack dropped her hand and stepped back as Hamilton leaned in to kiss Phryne. As the door closed behind him she stood, frozen, looking at him defiantly. Jack shrugged inside his overcoat and settled his hat further down on his forehead. With a resigned look he went over to her door, and held it open as the parade continued down the staircase. Phryne could not meet his eyes. The actor in chains – she did not even know his name – and the vineyard owner passed by, kissing her. At last it was over, the parade, but Jack still stood, holding the door open, looking at her and at the staircase, his eyes raised, questioning her.

Phryne awoke, then, from her dream, her nightmare, to find herself tangled in the sheets and blankets. She arose, with difficulty, and drank a glass of water before returning to the bed, but not to sleep.


End file.
